


The Lesson

by purglepurglepurgle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:57:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19168120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purglepurglepurgle/pseuds/purglepurglepurgle
Summary: "Cersei scowled, and thought for a couple of moments."Cersei Lannister being Cersei Lannister. Set while she's a child.





	The Lesson

"Cersei!" The Septa gripped the young girl's arm and pulled her down the street. "How would you feel if someone did that to _you_?!"  
    "What does that matter?" said Cersei. Her hair whipped her face, thrown by the wind; as always, the vicious sea air of Lannisport triumphed over its soft evening sun. The wails of the grotty urchin echoed behind them. Cersei yanked her arm out of the Septa's grasp, fury constricting her lungs.  
    _How **dare** she touch me! Hateful old crone!_  
    The Septa frowned, slowing down. She reminded Cersei of the etchings she'd seen of elephants: fat, ugly, wrinkled things, long-nosed and big-eared. Cersei doubted her Septa had any more wit than an elephant.  
    _Lumbering oaf._  
    They stopped in an alcove, taking shelter from the wind. Seagulls squawked around them. Cersei wished she had a few pebbles to throw at the seagulls; she had a good aim. Much better than Jaime's, even though _he_ was being trained with a bow and arrow and she was not. She felt a fresh wave of anger.  
    The Septa didn't notice. The Septa didn't notice anything, much. Her voice was gentler, now. "Come, now, Cersei. I want you to close your eyes, and I want you to imagine. Imagine you're a starving little orphan girl, and alone, and sitting on a corner of a street because you have nowhere else to go, and then imagine a young noblewoman _kicks_ you. It isn't very nice, now, is it?"  
    "But I'm not some starving little orphan girl, am I?" said Cersei. The Septa was always talking about what was and wasn't 'very nice'. Cersei knew that important people didn't care about being 'very nice'. Her _father_ had not made his reputation by being 'very nice'. She rubbed her forearm; it hurt where the Septa had grabbed it. Intolerable. "I'm _not_ starving, I have a whole pride of lions at my back, and when I go home, I go home to my castle. That makes all the difference."  
    _And when I get home, you'll pay for marking my arm._  
    The Septa shook her head. Her wimple, Cersei decided, looked less like an elephant; it shivered like a nervous jellyfish, the kind the cooks diced and fried, for the Lannister table. Tiny little cubes, over an open flame, split by a knife... "Cersei, I know you don't mean that. Just, think about it. How would you feel?"  
    Cersei scowled, and thought for a couple of moments. Her father sometimes forbade her dinner when she angered him; she knew how it felt to have a rumbling stomach. And Jaime kicked her, sometimes, when they fought. She could kick harder than him, but it hurt, all the same. "I'd feel horrible, I expect," she said, at last. "I'm glad I'm not her."  
    The Septa smiled. "So, you see! You see why you mustn't go around kicking people?"  
    Cersei looked at her blankly. "But I'm _not_ her. I'd feel horrible if I were her, but I'm not her, so why should I care?"  
    The Septa looked flummoxed. "Because... because it's the right thing to do?"  
    Cersei snorted. They passed the rest of the walk back to the castle in silence. Cersei squeezed her right arm firmly with her left, hoping to bruise it further where the Septa had taken hold. That was one good thing about today.  
    She couldn't wait for her father's reaction when she showed him the mark on her arm, and told him how the Septa had made it.  
    The Septa, she was sure, would feel _horrible_.


End file.
